A Dark and Deadly Deception

by Eleanor Taylor Bland

Overview

A Gripping Tale of Murder and Deception in the Heart of Chicago

In Dark and Deadly Deception, Chicago detective Marti MacAlister finds herself entangled in a complex web of murder and intrigue. When the body of a Hollywood film star is discovered along the shores of the Des Plaines River during a movie shoot, Marti must navigate the glitz and glamour of the entertainment world to uncover the truth behind the shocking crime.

As if one murder wasn't enough, the skeletal remains of another gunshot victim are found in a century-old building undergoing renovations. As Marti delves deeper into both cases, she begins to unravel the tangled threads that connect them. But with each passing day, the killer grows more dangerous and elusive.

In this captivating addition to Eleanor Taylor Bland's acclaimed series, readers will be drawn into a world of suspense and wit as they follow Marti MacAlister, a brilliant and determined African American female cop, in her quest for justice. With its masterful blend of mystery, thriller, and police procedural elements, Dark and Deadly Deception promises to keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781429901703
Publisher:	St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date:	04/01/2007
Series:	Marti MacAlister Mysteries , #13
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	272
File size:	650 KB

About the Author

Eleanor Taylor Bland is the author of twelve previous Marti MacAlister mysteries. She lives in Waukegan, Illinois.

Eleanor Taylor Bland is the author of the Marti MacAlister Mysteries, including Windy City Dying, Fatal Remains, A Cold and Silent Dying, and A Dark and Deadly Deception. She lives in Waukegan, Illinois.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

Friday, March 19---Lincoln Prairie

A loud snap awakened him. Wood scraped against brick. Another branch from the elms planted close to the house must have broken. Thomas Newsome pushed the heavy blanket aside and, mindful of the stiffness in his hips and knees, pushed himself up from the armchair. Leaning on his cane, he shuffled to the window and pulled back the heavy velvet curtain. The wind had picked up. Snow, large flakes falling thick and fast, whipped past the leaded glass, moving horizontally. Winter, the stripping away of things past, a time for the seed to lie fallow within the frozen earth: his favorite time of year. Like the animals that slept through blizzards, and cold, and rivers dammed with ice, he, too, chose to hibernate, staying inside with a fire in the hearth but wakeful---watching and waiting, for what he didn't know.

Loath to turn away from the storm that raged outside, he stood there until the cold from bare glass and the chill from a draft began to permeate his bones, stiffening his joints, making his back ache. He sighed. Today was his birthday. He was seventy-nine years old. Perhaps there wouldn't be many more winters. Perhaps soon, he would lie beneath the snow awaiting resurrection. He turned from the window and went to a tall, narrow cupboard. He touched the dark wood, older than he was, and scarred. The veins on the back of his hands stood out like cords. He rubbed the knots in the wood with fingers that had never known a callus.

There were no tremors in his hand now. Was it the medication? Or . . . the Theotokos---Mother, Madonna, Birth-Giver of God. He opened the cabinet, looked at the icon placed at eye level.

The icon was small, five inches by eight. A border of blue-and-red paint that might once have been bright was now dull and scarred. Bare wood was exposed where the paint had chipped or peeled. He thought the light surrounding the Madonna's face and head must have been gold. Now it was a mottled brown-green. Her face was the color of old parchment. Her dress made him think of a brown wool coat he had worn as a boy.

"Mama . . . (Romanian here)" he whispered. It was one of the few Romanian words he knew. "Mother."

She was a tormented mother, looking toward some distant place far beyond his line of vision. There was no Christ child in her arms to love, no crucified Christ to mourn. She leaned forward, lap empty, arms empty. Her hand palms up, a silent plea or a mother's prayer? The anguish in her eyes was too deep for him to fathom or to even begin to understand. "What do you see, Mama? (Romanian.)" Again he asked that question, again the answer came, "I see forever."

Copyright © 2005 by Eleanor Taylor Bland

Editorial Reviews

The cops in Lincoln Prairie, Ill., find a fresh and literal addition to the skeletons in a murdered actress's closet. When the bones of a youngish male are discovered in an old building, with a bullet in the skull, no one can say who he was, how long he's been there, how he got there or why no one ever missed him. The skeleton has black Detective Marti MacAlister and her white partner Vik Jessenovik scratching their heads. Meanwhile, bit player Savannah Payne-Jones's bid for Hollywood glory ends when she's fished out of the Des Plaines River, a bullet in her skull as well. Though her part in a locally filmed movie had been small, a producer tells Marti that "she could act." She could also keep dangerous secrets, even from a loving daughter. On the home front, Marti's husband Ben may have prostate cancer-the sort of complication that can put a murder investigation into diminished perspective. Still, Marti's a stone professional, and professionals have to compartmentalize. So it's back to a case whose accumulating evidence indicates that the old bones may be connected to the fresh bones. Part police procedural, part domestic drama. But after 13 entries (A Cold and Silent Dying, 2004, etc.), the formula seems a bit, well, bland. Agent: Ted Chichak/Scovil Chichak Galen Literary Agency

Kirkus Reviews